


Varaṇa

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: Jayasena decides to marry, and enlists the help of one Lady Sumitra to help him impress his future bride. (Things, unsurprisingly, do not turn out as he expects.)





	Varaṇa

**Author's Note:**

> varaṇa (Sanskrit): "n. the act of choosing, wishing wooing, choice of a bride."

Looking over at his twelve-year-sister, engrossed in calculating the economic burden from the sparse harvest they’ve suffered that year, Jayasena realizes she ought to be doing whatever it is girls her age do, not sharing the responsibilities of the throne.

“What  _ are _ girls my age supposed to do?” Devasena asks when he shares this thought with her. In her voice is simple curiosity instead of scorn, wonder at something that ought to be second nature for her: that is enough to decide him.

His advisors are taken aback when he announces his assent to their frequent admonitions to find a bride. Lord Damodaran’s mouth opens and closes so that he resembles nothing so much as a fish, and Lord Sridhar bursts into tears.

Jayasena can’t see that his decision is so very surprising. Twenty-one still seems terribly young for matrimony, and he has no need for an heir when he has his sister, but perhaps the presence of another woman would be of benefit to Devasena. His wife could help with her responsibilities, provide a good influence for her, and teach her about….womanly things, the things their mother would have shared had she lived. Such a sacrifice of his happiness is the only choice a loving brother could make.

Thereby satisfied, Jayasena turns his attention to the slightly more concerning question of who, in particular, to marry.

His council rises to the challenge with frankly terrifying enthusiasm, and within a week, he has an intimidating list of eligible young women they find suitable, and an only slightly shorter list of those candidates that his advisors suspect might seriously consider his proposal. Jayasena, still bewildered at the thought that so many would wish to wed him, obediently peers at portraits until his eyes swim. Truthfully he finds most of them very similar, all carefully constructed to hide perceived flaws and personality alike. 

When he points this out to his advisors, Lord Damodaran clucks in sympathy. “A young man wants to see his bride in the flesh,” he says, misinterpreting magnificently. “I understand your urges, Your Majesty. Don’t worry; arrangements can be made.”

Arrangements are made, quite without Jayasena’s knowledge or approval, and it’s only when he comes down to breakfast one morning to find that a Princess Thamarai of Satyapuram is expected in Kuntala by the next full moon that he realizes what a terrible blunder he’s made. By then, of course, it is far too late; and all he can do is break the news to Devasena. 

“Truly?” she asks, eyes wide. “You mean to marry?”

All Jayasena can do is nod. “It is past time for a man of my standing,” he says, uncomfortably conscious that he sounds as pompous as Lord Shashank at his worst. “I cannot neglect my duty to my people.”  _ Or to you _ , he adds silently. 

“I suppose not,” Devasena says. “Will I like her?”

“I hope it is so.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

There is a terrible pause while Jayasena tries to remember a single fact he knows of this particular princess, and finds himself incapable. “She’s from Satyapuram,” he says at last. “They’re said to be virtuous there.”

He might deceive the world successfully, but not his sister. She stares at him, appalled. 

Jayasena isn’t sure he doesn’t agree with her.

*

He feels no more at ease that evening at the banquet at which he officially declares his intentions to his courtiers. Like Devasena, his people react at first with surprise; but unlike her, they then smile and shout their approval. Kuntalans were made to love, and the thought of a new Queen to welcome into their fold fills them with delight. Jayasena suffers his shoulders to be clapped and his face to be marked with kohl and finally takes to stalking around the room in search of silence.

This is how he finds himself by a table stacked high with sweetmeats just in time to hear a female voice comment dryly, “One would expect the King’s banquet to be better arranged, don’t you think?” 

Jayasena has just enough time to notice idly that the speaker is a pretty young woman—of course she is; only pretty young women seem to be allowed in the presence of the King—before she colors and apologizes. “Ah. Your Majesty. I did not recognize you.”

“That does not necessarily mean you were mistaken,” replies Jayasena. He can hardly be offended at the truth: that the only person in all Kuntala who knows less about entertaining than he is probably Devasena. But, he must confess, it nevertheless makes him curious. “What fault do you find?”

The young lady, thus encouraged, raises an eyebrow. He has the distinct impression she has been waiting some time to unburden her soul. “For one thing,” she says, voice crisp and direct, “seating Lord Niranjan and Lord Padmanabham side-by-side, when all the world knows they don’t care for each other! And who thought it a grand idea to set the musicians playing so close to the diners?”

“They came highly recommended,” Jayasena comments mildly. “I did not want their talents to go unheard.”

“Little good that will do if your guests are deafened,” she points out tartly, before clearly thinking better of it. “Your Majesty.”

Jayasena coughs to hide a chuckle, heart light for the first time in hours. “I shall keep that in mind. I thank you for your wisdom, Lady….?”

“Sumitra,” she supplies, grinning ruefully at the way his expression must betray his sudden recognition. “Yes, the very same.”

He clears his throat; it is his turn now to be awkward and ashamed. “I was sorry to hear, Lady Sumitra, of the passing of your father—“

“Don’t be,” she says, suddenly fierce. “All you’ve heard is true. He was a fool and a drunkard and all he left behind for me and my brother were his gambling debts.”

Her voice cracks with that peculiar mixture of anger and love and grief Jayasena remembers so well, and his heart goes out to her. “Please,” he says, “how may I be of service to you?”

Lady Sumitra’s expression softens from one of bitter bereavement to wry amusement. “I find I am in need of a husband,” she says, and he hears the hopelessness in her voice. “Perhaps Your Majesty’s matrimonial success might make you inclined to find one for me?”

Jayasena considers. “Perhaps I might,” he answers at last, “provided you perform a service in return for me.” Sumitra stiffens, and horrified, he hastens to add: “I meant nothing untoward! Only—well, as you’ve seen, neither my sister nor I know very much about arranging such functions, and before the Princess of Satyapuram arrives, it might be desirable to have someone in charge who does. That is all I intended.”

Sumitra studies him, and he prays he appears honorable and trustworthy—and why shouldn’t he? He  _ is _ honorable and trustworthy and his intentions are nothing but good. He has no reason to fidget when faced with her regard as though a guilty child. Still, it is something of a relief when she nods her assent.

"Very well," she says,  in her calm clear voice, "I accept."

The remainder of the conversation passes very quickly, during which Jayasena swears that he will seek out any members of his court who would make a fine spouse for Sumitra, and in return, she suggests that he may call on her in the morning to begin arrangements for the Princess’s visit. His head swims with confusion by the time Lady Sumitra disappears back into the crowd and Jayasena finds himself once more faced with the never-ending congratulations of his court. 

It is all, Jayasena decides, due to this talk of marriage: such considerations do strange things to a man’s mind. Once safely wed, he reminds himself, he will be all the better for it; he prays that the gods will bless the Lady Sumitra with success. 

*

Sumitra keeps her word, much to his surprise. Jayasena can hardly listen to talk of the appropriate  _ pujas _ and rituals to be completely without finding his mind going blank and his eyelids drooping, and Devasena flees at the first talk of flower garlands; this leaves poor Sumitra with sole responsibility for almost all the arrangements. Jayasena can only conclude that she must, as she said, truly be in need of a husband, so much so that she is willing to put up with an ignorant King and his equally hopeless sister to effect it.

He wishes he were equally effective in finding her a prospective spouse. Try as he might, none of his companions or council members seem appropriate; they are all, to a man, too old or too young or too dull or too handsome. None of them, he thinks, would make her as happy as she ought to be, and he dares not present her with any but the best. And so, whenever they meet, he must admit that all his efforts so far are still in vain. 

It hardly seems necessary, though, that he should have to go to so much trouble: Sumitra is cultured and calm and clever, and from what he hears, was quite sought after in the years before her father’s death. But it seems pennilessness and the burden of a much-younger brother are enough to deter even the most idealistic suitors. Selfishly, Jayasena is grateful for this; it means she has far more time to spend in preparations for the Princess’s arrival. 

Besides, he finds he enjoys the time spent in her company for its own sake. Sumitra may be tactful, but that does not keep her from being truthful: her opinions, discreetly expressed, are all the more entertaining for it.

He’s almost disappointed when he realizes Princess Thamarai is expected on the morrow, and he no longer has an excuse to escape his council and their frankly embarrassing advice to meet with Sumitra instead—not that the anticipated arrival doesn’t cause him anxiety even otherwise. What will he do if the Princess doesn’t care for him, or Kuntala, or worst of all, for Devasena? But then Sumitra mentions in passing that she plans to be present to supervise the parties she’s arranged, and things seem….simpler. More manageable. At least he will not give Princess Thamarai cause to complain about the quality of the King’s hospitality.

When at last the Princess’ palanquin comes through the palace gates, the first to emerge is a matron in forbiddingly dark robes. “I am the Princess’s wet nurse,” she pronounces, looking around as though daring anyone to protest. “She cannot do without me.”

“At so advanced an age?” Devasena asks sweetly but, at a glance from Sumitra, subsides. Jayasena is impressed despite himself. His sister rarely takes chastisement so well.

To his relief, the Princess, when she exits the palanquin, proves to be appropriately abashed at her nurse’s behavior. By way of apology, she smiles at him, and Jayasena hears many of the guards nearby catch their breath. “We thank you for your generous welcome,” she says, gesturing to herself, her nurse, and the pretty maidservant who follows her out of the palanquin. “We have been admiring the beauty of your kingdom for some time.”

Devasena pokes him in the stomach as Sumitra coughs pointedly and only then does Jayasena remember he’s meant to reply. “Ah. Yes,” he stammers, and then, struck by by sudden inspiration: “It is nothing, Princess, to your own beauty.”

It is the sort of line poets should envy, Jayasena thinks proudly, but when he tries to catch Sumitra’s eye, she looks away. Devasena, for her part, only hides a laugh—poorly—behind her hand. Princess Thamarai, at least, is far more appreciative; she turns a fetching shade of pink before her nurse ushers her into the safety of the palace, glaring suspiciously at Jayasena as though she supposes him the worst sort of cad. 

But. Princess Thamarai had not, in fact, fled in horror at the first sight of him. “I think that went well,” he flatters himself.

“Yes,” says Sumitra absently.

*

It quickly becomes clear that Princess Thamarai is perfect in every way. She is kind to all, regardless of station, as her very close friendship with her maid Saroja proves; and she has an exquisite and refined palate as well as a clever and well-informed mind. She even manages to win Devasena’s grudging approval by demonstrating a basic grasp of archery. 

“Join us!” calls Jayasena, seeing Sumitra passing by, and she only shakes her head with a wan smile. 

“I’ve sworn an oath to save lives, not take them,” she says curtly, and, perhaps reconsidering her sharp tone, softens the words with: “But I hardly object to others demonstrating those skills I will never share. Please, enjoy yourselves.”

Devasena shrugs and goes back to chattering happily with Thamarai, and Jayasena swallows back the strange lump that appears in his throat. 

All in all, the general consensus from all of Kuntala is that Jayasena is unlikely ever to find a more fitting bride, and that only a fool would give her up.

If only it were not for the nurse. She complains of everything: the drapes, the sunlight, the excessive onions and garlic used by the kitchens. In less than a day’s time, most everyone who meets her prays for her sudden and painful death; Jayasena prides himself on not joining their number until the day she accosts him in the corridors.

“It will take some work,” she admits begrudgingly, “but I expect I can make a suitable husband out of you for my princess. Were it not for the question of….” 

She trails off expectantly, as though he ought to know exactly what she is implying. When his blank stare makes it clear that he very much does not, she huffs in exasperation.

“I find it difficult to comprehend why a woman not bound to you by blood or betrothal should be granted such liberties as to see to your guests—but of course the peculiarities of your previous relationships has no bearing on the present. All that matters is that the Princess, once installed in her proper place, will of course be the only one to see to any….needs the Lady Sumitra may have fulfilled.”

The disadvantage to being Devasena’s elder is the constant need to be the diplomatic, deliberate counter to her constant temper. But people too often forget that the same blood runs in their veins; the same fire burns deep within their souls. 

“I do hope,” Jayasena snarls, decorum and decency and the need to be polite to his elders entirely forgotten, “that you do not intend to make aspersions against the character of the Lady Sumitra. Not when she is noble and kind and dedicated to the benefit of her country and her King: not when her wisdom cannot be matched any more than her virtue can be questioned—“

“For shame!” interrupts Princess Thamarai’s shocked voice, and Jayasena turns to find her and Devasena standing just behind them, both carrying bows. “ Mother, I insist that you retire to our rooms at once.”

The harridan grumbles but obeys; with the source of his anger gone from his sight, Jayasena is far more capable of sensible thought. It is not enough to make him regret his actions in the slightest.

Princess Thamarai bows her head. “On her behalf, I pray your forgiveness. Her words were unforgivable but born only out of concern for me—“

“And by no means,” Jayasena thunders, “does that allow her to defame a good and generous woman for no reason other than her own suppositions.”

The Princess looks rather as though she wants to argue but can’t see how. “I shall convey your displeasure to her,” she says at last and disappears to her chambers, which leaves only Devasena there, staring at her brother as though she’s never seen him before.

She opens her mouth and before she can say a word, Jayasena raises a hand to silence her. “There’s no need to tell me I’ve acted a fool,” he admits.

Devasena raises her chin. “I would never fault you for speaking your mind,” she says, “any more than you would me. But—“ she hesitates and plunges resolutely onwards “—you showed ten times the passion in protecting the Lady Sumitra that you ever did in Princess Thamarai’s presence. Surely you see that that must mean something?”

He can’t seem to make sense of any of this. “But Princess Thamarai is cultured and civilized and beloved of the council—and you enjoy her company. She would be a good influence on you.”

“So too could Lady Sumitra,” Devasena offers bluntly, “and if I might not seek it out, I don’t object to her company. But most of all, dear brother of mine--when I marry, it won’t be to please the council or you or anyone but myself. I pray you haven’t been so stupid to think otherwise?”

“But—“ his mind really does refuse to work properly “Sumitra won’t have me. She needs a rich husband, a respectable one—“

“Does she now?” Devasena’s mouth widens into a smirk. “ _ Such _ a pity you don’t know any eligible young kings who might offer for her hand.”

*

He finds Lady Sumitra in the gardens.

She stands at once upon seeing him, courteous to the end. “Your Majesty, a pleasure,” she recites, looking not at all pleased to find him there, but he will worry about that later. What matters most is not how he presents himself, but that Sumitra know the truth of his heart as he understands it at last. 

She does not allow him to speak. Instead she blurts out, “I understand the Princess is most pleased with her new kingdom.”

“Yes,” says Jayasena, unsure whether he should be grateful for the reprieve. “I hear she has enjoyed herself very much, here in our mountains. We have you to thank for that.”

“It was nothing. I wanted only to perform my duty.”

A new opportunity; Jayasena seizes it shamelessly. “I think you wanted rather more than that,” he reminds her. “A husband, if I recall?” 

Her face flushes, but her head is held high. “Yes,” she says, “but—“

He will not allow her to escape so easily. He takes her hands. “You have one.”

Sumitra, clever Sumitra, takes only a few heartbeats to grasp his meaning. She gasps. “The Princess—“

“I gather she is not heartbroken,” Jayasena says, “from the way I saw her hold her maidservant’s hands when I went to  inform her of my decision. If anything, I imagine she wanted to marry, not due to fondness for me, but largely to escape that monstress of a nurse she has—and who could blame her?”

“Not I,” murmurs Sumitra, still sounding rather dazed. “But it will be unkind to leave her—she does not deserve—“

“I can’t save her from her nursemaid’s control,” says Jayasena firmly, “nor do I particularly wish to. She will have to take up that challenge herself, should she choose to. What I do wish to do,” he grips her hands more tightly, “is marry you, if I may, as soon as possible.”

Sumitra meets his eyes squarely. “I have no wealth,” she recites, “nor high standing.”

“I think,” Jayasena replies, “that I have enough for both of us.”

“I bear the responsibility of a brother.”

“I bear the responsibility of a sister, who, you must agree, will be by far the more difficult of the two.”

“I can’t swear that my motives are pure,” she admits, not a little desperately. “Not when I benefit so greatly from marrying you, and you so little. I cannot be certain I love you”

That gives him pause. Her honesty, however, is among her virtues, and Jayasena gently releases her fingers. At least now she knows. At least now she will not live under the misconception that his feelings are for another. He can be satisfied with so much.

Even as he pulls away, Sumitra reaches for him once more. Hope rises once more in his breast, and without meaning to, Jayasena finds himself smiling like the worst kind of fool. 

“But,” she whispers, “I believe that someday I could.”

“Very well,” he says. “I accept.”

**Author's Note:**

> * I confess, prior to writing this, I would have considered it impossible to combine the cheesiest sort of Hallmark romantic comedy with a canon-verse Baahubali fanfic, but what better for a Valentine's Day fest?  
> * Other viewpoints on the Jayasena/Sumitra courtship can be found in "Sarduli" and "Praveśaka." I chalk any discrepancies up to the unreliable nature of human memory and Kumar Varma's biased point of view.  
> *Special thanks to maya/parlegee, who replied to a desperate last-minute request of "can you look this over in about 3 hours thanks bye" with her usual grace and fantastic advice. You're the best, friend! :D


End file.
